Big Red gave up the fight this weekend. We're about to change the way we crush goldfish crackers into cars. Stay tuned.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Lemonade Days
Truly, the secret to happiness must be the ability to take a negative and form it into a positive. Resilience in life is inarguably one of the most important personality traits we can own.
I think as a parent of preteens it isn't just an important life tool, it is crucial to surviving the mercurial years of adolescence. Life throws us a lot of lemons, and if we're to get through the labyrinth of parenthood with ourselves and our children intact, we need to know how to make a mean lemonade.
Recently, I thwarted a truckload of citrus with my usual weapon: laughter. Granted, my older children rarely appreciate my humor, especially when used as a coping tool, and it flies over the heads of my younger offspring. But for me? It saves my life.
This weekend we had family in town, and my girls had convinced their Nana to take them to the mall for an afternoon of shopping. I agreed, but told them they needed to eat lunch before heading out. When you are a young parent with only one or maybe two children to cook for, it is easy to morph into the short-order cook who caters to the various culinary whims of each family member. When you have four children, a spouse and house guests, people eat what's set in front of them or they go hungry. And when they're my kids, they eat what's set in front of them, period. I had set out plates of turkey sandwiches, grapes and chips for lunch, and when I placed lunch in front of my oldest, she sneered and pushed her plate away.
"Mom. I only eat turkey at Thanksgiving now. I don't eat it in October." She then rolled her eyes heavenward in a way reminiscent of grand mal seizure victims and other teens across the globe.
Interested in reading more? Head over to GNM Parents for the rest......**Edited to add: I'm not sure when today my post goes up over there. But I needed to get this up and out the door...**
I think as a parent of preteens it isn't just an important life tool, it is crucial to surviving the mercurial years of adolescence. Life throws us a lot of lemons, and if we're to get through the labyrinth of parenthood with ourselves and our children intact, we need to know how to make a mean lemonade.
Recently, I thwarted a truckload of citrus with my usual weapon: laughter. Granted, my older children rarely appreciate my humor, especially when used as a coping tool, and it flies over the heads of my younger offspring. But for me? It saves my life.
This weekend we had family in town, and my girls had convinced their Nana to take them to the mall for an afternoon of shopping. I agreed, but told them they needed to eat lunch before heading out. When you are a young parent with only one or maybe two children to cook for, it is easy to morph into the short-order cook who caters to the various culinary whims of each family member. When you have four children, a spouse and house guests, people eat what's set in front of them or they go hungry. And when they're my kids, they eat what's set in front of them, period. I had set out plates of turkey sandwiches, grapes and chips for lunch, and when I placed lunch in front of my oldest, she sneered and pushed her plate away.
"Mom. I only eat turkey at Thanksgiving now. I don't eat it in October." She then rolled her eyes heavenward in a way reminiscent of grand mal seizure victims and other teens across the globe.
Interested in reading more? Head over to GNM Parents for the rest......**Edited to add: I'm not sure when today my post goes up over there. But I needed to get this up and out the door...**
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Philanthropy Thursday
Oy. I'm pissed.
I've said before that I love jewelry, and I do. I really love it. Most especially, I've always been a little overfond of that carbon deliciousness known as the diamond. The first time I saw the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian? I left a puddle of drool. It also happened to coincide with a traveling DeBeers exhibit, so the bling factor left me feeling a little breathless. A lot of women I know feel similarly afflicted when confronted with a beautiful diamond. I have a girlfriend who wears, steady yourself ladies, FIVE perfect carats in her ears (yeah, they're real and they are beyond fabulous). I feel like a crow whenever I talk to her; my eyes are always following the glint of her enormous studs as she moves her head. She is constantly being stopped by women and asked about her jewelry.
I have a beautiful wedding ring, too. Seriously, this ring is a stunner. And if I were to be perfectly honest with you, I don't just love it because of the way it looks. The dirty secret most women don't cop to, but I will, is that I also like my ring because of the statement it imparts. It's pathetic, but true. My ring says that my man has spending power. It announces our socio-economic status. It implies things about my marriage, true or not. "Ooh! Your man must want to keep you around, sugar," is my favorite, told to me at the Atlanta Zoo years ago by a woman who looked at my left hand in admiration at the panda exhibit. I used to thrive off of this, epecially in my twenties. And if most women were honest, they would admit that they want a big diamond or like their own big ring for reasons other than the sparkle. I get really tired of people who say they want a three carat ring because they like shiny things. Many, many substances are shiny. But few have the status of the diamond. Isn't status what the diamond is really all about? I have a $40 green peridot ring set in silver that is unique and glints marvelously in the sunlight. Does it rate the same response as my diamonds? Hell, no. I used to love the response my diamonds would elicit. Now, it just kind of makes me sick. I often leave the house with just a simple band, or none at all. Carting four kids around is statement enough of my commitment and status of "taken."
Then, a few nights ago, I finally did something I have been avoiding for months. I saw Blood Diamond.
Game over, folks.
Have you seen it? Are you, like I was, afraid to see it because of the brutal reality it depicts about the diamond trade? Are you afraid it will change your mind about your own ring? You're right. It will. I was numb after this movie. I have lived in my own bubble of what I wanted to know about where my stones may have come from, and the horror millions of people have endured because of a shiny stone. I spent the rest of the night willing myself not to throw up. I got up and researched online, and was amazed at the discrepancy between how the diamond industry spins the issue of conflict stones, and the reality of the millions of deaths, tortures, imprisonments and wars raged over this jewel.
I called the 800 number of the major jeweler that supplied us my own diamond. They happen to have a policy stating their compliance with the Kimberly Process, a start in the right direction to keep conflict stones out of the market. It's not foolproof, and it has only been in effect since 2003. My ring was purchased well before then, and even if it wasn't, they do not offer a guarantee that their diamonds are conflict-free. Very few places do, and when you can find a guaranteed conflict-free certified stone, (often out of Canada) it is more expensive. Watchdog groups like Amnesty International and Global Witness estimate that roughly 20% of the diamonds out there are conflict. There is no way of knowing. Like laundered money, it's hard to track a smuggled commodity. And like any trade dealing in the billions of dollars, not everyone is going to do the right thing.
My moral dilemma has been this: what to do about my own diamond jewelry. Sell it? Give it away? Keep it but stop wearing it? Throw it out?
Sadly, and I really am sad about this, I feel clear in my heart that I cannot wear diamonds anymore. It's not worth the risk that maybe someone died because of my own ring. And even if my own jewelry came from a conflict free zone, diamonds represent one true thing: millions of them come from places stained with blood. I do not buy into the bullshit line that states the diamond industry in Africa helps fuel the economy and provide health care for its workers. At less than a dollar a day in wages, in dangerous and filthy conditions, it's an insult to anyone's intelligence to accept this weak attempt at justification. I do not want to be a part of anything that funds wars, that is responsible for so much tragedy, and that paints me as a sheep who wants to be like everyone else. I just can't. I believe it is possible to live a life, live it well, and not contribute to the downfall of this world. Do I drive a car? Yes. Am I aware of the wars fueled by oil? You bet. And we're working right now on changing how and what our family consumes for survival. Stay tuned.
My decision is easy, although I know that it may be different for others. I won't wear them, and I won't keep them. My husband and I have found a private jeweler willing to buy my rings and I have chosen a simple, but truly lovely replacement. In case you're looking for something unique, I found my ring at the Sundance catalogue online. I spent less than $100 and I felt something I didn't anticipate: pride. I'm proud that I am at a place in my life where I care less and less what others think of me. I am proud that I want my accomplishments and personality to scream louder than the glint of my wedding band.
Think about it.
I've said before that I love jewelry, and I do. I really love it. Most especially, I've always been a little overfond of that carbon deliciousness known as the diamond. The first time I saw the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian? I left a puddle of drool. It also happened to coincide with a traveling DeBeers exhibit, so the bling factor left me feeling a little breathless. A lot of women I know feel similarly afflicted when confronted with a beautiful diamond. I have a girlfriend who wears, steady yourself ladies, FIVE perfect carats in her ears (yeah, they're real and they are beyond fabulous). I feel like a crow whenever I talk to her; my eyes are always following the glint of her enormous studs as she moves her head. She is constantly being stopped by women and asked about her jewelry.
I have a beautiful wedding ring, too. Seriously, this ring is a stunner. And if I were to be perfectly honest with you, I don't just love it because of the way it looks. The dirty secret most women don't cop to, but I will, is that I also like my ring because of the statement it imparts. It's pathetic, but true. My ring says that my man has spending power. It announces our socio-economic status. It implies things about my marriage, true or not. "Ooh! Your man must want to keep you around, sugar," is my favorite, told to me at the Atlanta Zoo years ago by a woman who looked at my left hand in admiration at the panda exhibit. I used to thrive off of this, epecially in my twenties. And if most women were honest, they would admit that they want a big diamond or like their own big ring for reasons other than the sparkle. I get really tired of people who say they want a three carat ring because they like shiny things. Many, many substances are shiny. But few have the status of the diamond. Isn't status what the diamond is really all about? I have a $40 green peridot ring set in silver that is unique and glints marvelously in the sunlight. Does it rate the same response as my diamonds? Hell, no. I used to love the response my diamonds would elicit. Now, it just kind of makes me sick. I often leave the house with just a simple band, or none at all. Carting four kids around is statement enough of my commitment and status of "taken."
Then, a few nights ago, I finally did something I have been avoiding for months. I saw Blood Diamond.
Game over, folks.
Have you seen it? Are you, like I was, afraid to see it because of the brutal reality it depicts about the diamond trade? Are you afraid it will change your mind about your own ring? You're right. It will. I was numb after this movie. I have lived in my own bubble of what I wanted to know about where my stones may have come from, and the horror millions of people have endured because of a shiny stone. I spent the rest of the night willing myself not to throw up. I got up and researched online, and was amazed at the discrepancy between how the diamond industry spins the issue of conflict stones, and the reality of the millions of deaths, tortures, imprisonments and wars raged over this jewel.
I called the 800 number of the major jeweler that supplied us my own diamond. They happen to have a policy stating their compliance with the Kimberly Process, a start in the right direction to keep conflict stones out of the market. It's not foolproof, and it has only been in effect since 2003. My ring was purchased well before then, and even if it wasn't, they do not offer a guarantee that their diamonds are conflict-free. Very few places do, and when you can find a guaranteed conflict-free certified stone, (often out of Canada) it is more expensive. Watchdog groups like Amnesty International and Global Witness estimate that roughly 20% of the diamonds out there are conflict. There is no way of knowing. Like laundered money, it's hard to track a smuggled commodity. And like any trade dealing in the billions of dollars, not everyone is going to do the right thing.
My moral dilemma has been this: what to do about my own diamond jewelry. Sell it? Give it away? Keep it but stop wearing it? Throw it out?
Sadly, and I really am sad about this, I feel clear in my heart that I cannot wear diamonds anymore. It's not worth the risk that maybe someone died because of my own ring. And even if my own jewelry came from a conflict free zone, diamonds represent one true thing: millions of them come from places stained with blood. I do not buy into the bullshit line that states the diamond industry in Africa helps fuel the economy and provide health care for its workers. At less than a dollar a day in wages, in dangerous and filthy conditions, it's an insult to anyone's intelligence to accept this weak attempt at justification. I do not want to be a part of anything that funds wars, that is responsible for so much tragedy, and that paints me as a sheep who wants to be like everyone else. I just can't. I believe it is possible to live a life, live it well, and not contribute to the downfall of this world. Do I drive a car? Yes. Am I aware of the wars fueled by oil? You bet. And we're working right now on changing how and what our family consumes for survival. Stay tuned.
My decision is easy, although I know that it may be different for others. I won't wear them, and I won't keep them. My husband and I have found a private jeweler willing to buy my rings and I have chosen a simple, but truly lovely replacement. In case you're looking for something unique, I found my ring at the Sundance catalogue online. I spent less than $100 and I felt something I didn't anticipate: pride. I'm proud that I am at a place in my life where I care less and less what others think of me. I am proud that I want my accomplishments and personality to scream louder than the glint of my wedding band.
Think about it.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Assistants Apply Here....
Not a lot to say today. I'm sick, which just bites, and I have to somehow get it together to play with Jack, keep him happy and make phone calls today for the Democrats.
Ever tried to make phone calls where you needed to sound professional with one or more kids in the background?
Me: Hello, this is Jen M with the [My State] Democrats. I'm calling about that box of supplies we needed sent out for the mock convention.
Important Hillary Staffer Who Lives With Her Cat: All right, let me check on this. I'm going to forward you to our grassroots...um, I'm sorry? Was that someone screaming?
Me: [furiously shoving marshmallows into mouth of offending child] Screaming? Heh. Nooo. That was probably a Republican who got in.
Important Hillary Staffer Who Has Also Never Accidentally Grabbed Her Daughter's Underwear Out of The Laundry Basket and Spent the Rest of the Day Pulling Stuff by Hilary Duff Panties Out of Her Butt: Um, okay. Anyway, before I transfer you, I wanted to make sure you're all up to speed on the fundraising...I'm sorry. It sounds like someone is in pain. Is everything all right?
Me: Of course. We just have this initiation with new volunteers in the office. It's crazy. We pretend they're kids for a day and we say things like, hold on and I'll show you: Jacob! Get the kazoo out of your pants and get your sister's makeup off your face. NOW. It really works. They vote Democrat for the rest of their lives after this.
I need an intern.
Ever tried to make phone calls where you needed to sound professional with one or more kids in the background?
Me: Hello, this is Jen M with the [My State] Democrats. I'm calling about that box of supplies we needed sent out for the mock convention.
Important Hillary Staffer Who Lives With Her Cat: All right, let me check on this. I'm going to forward you to our grassroots...um, I'm sorry? Was that someone screaming?
Me: [furiously shoving marshmallows into mouth of offending child] Screaming? Heh. Nooo. That was probably a Republican who got in.
Important Hillary Staffer Who Has Also Never Accidentally Grabbed Her Daughter's Underwear Out of The Laundry Basket and Spent the Rest of the Day Pulling Stuff by Hilary Duff Panties Out of Her Butt: Um, okay. Anyway, before I transfer you, I wanted to make sure you're all up to speed on the fundraising...I'm sorry. It sounds like someone is in pain. Is everything all right?
Me: Of course. We just have this initiation with new volunteers in the office. It's crazy. We pretend they're kids for a day and we say things like, hold on and I'll show you: Jacob! Get the kazoo out of your pants and get your sister's makeup off your face. NOW. It really works. They vote Democrat for the rest of their lives after this.
I need an intern.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
How to Horrify Your Inlaws, Part I
Step One: Search for the missing orange soccer sock early on a Sunday morning. Tear house apart, intermittently hissing that the damned thing couldn't have walked out of the house.
Step Two: After pouring inlaws their second cup of coffee, loudly exclaim that you and your husband need to clean out the cars so that you can look for the sock. Mention that the cars are total shit heaps that haven't been cleaned in over a week. Say nothing as they agree to watch the baby as you "quickly" clean out the cars.
Step Three: Take over an hour excavating the massive amount of crap in the cars. Yell at the older children that you are going to burn their belongings if they don't come and fetch them from the growing pile in the kitchen. Loudly take an inventory of the items you have removed from the cars, to include cheese, musical instruments, underwear, and an eye patch.
Step Four: Scream at husband that he is going to electrocute himself as he begins to vacuum out your car. Remove third row seat and point out standing water in the leg wells from the forty-seven juice boxes your five year old likes to squeeze on the way to soccer. Remember that you still haven't found the fucking soccer sock and berate children for undressing in the car and for eating your good cheese.
Step Five: After more than an hour has passed, see triangle of orange peaking out from violin case in back of husband's car. Grab sock and parade through house in brazen imitation of Britney Spears at VMAs. Chortle to inlaws that they should love your bad self, your sock-finding boo-tay then tell husband to grab the Deep Woods Off for the mosquito larva growing in the big car.
Step Two: After pouring inlaws their second cup of coffee, loudly exclaim that you and your husband need to clean out the cars so that you can look for the sock. Mention that the cars are total shit heaps that haven't been cleaned in over a week. Say nothing as they agree to watch the baby as you "quickly" clean out the cars.
Step Three: Take over an hour excavating the massive amount of crap in the cars. Yell at the older children that you are going to burn their belongings if they don't come and fetch them from the growing pile in the kitchen. Loudly take an inventory of the items you have removed from the cars, to include cheese, musical instruments, underwear, and an eye patch.
Step Four: Scream at husband that he is going to electrocute himself as he begins to vacuum out your car. Remove third row seat and point out standing water in the leg wells from the forty-seven juice boxes your five year old likes to squeeze on the way to soccer. Remember that you still haven't found the fucking soccer sock and berate children for undressing in the car and for eating your good cheese.
Step Five: After more than an hour has passed, see triangle of orange peaking out from violin case in back of husband's car. Grab sock and parade through house in brazen imitation of Britney Spears at VMAs. Chortle to inlaws that they should love your bad self, your sock-finding boo-tay then tell husband to grab the Deep Woods Off for the mosquito larva growing in the big car.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Watch Out, Babs: An Interview
The delightful (and patient) Painted Maypole has been interviewing bloggers around the blogosphere. I'm posting her interview here today.
1) You spend a lot of time in your car. What one super feature do you wish it had?
Auto-pilot
I can only imagine how much more multi-tasking I would get done if I could just tell my car (like Kit in NightRider) “Get us to soccer practice” and then I could sit back and get the bills paid, or change the festering diaper, or supervise homework. Or drink heavily.
2) What prompted you to start blogging? Has it been everything you dreamed it would be?
I wanted to flex my writing muscle everyday. I had no idea about the community of blogging, the connections I would make, none of that. I honestly thought I would post chapter vignettes each day as I worked toward finishing a book or project. Now I’m really enjoying the community aspect, and I signed up for National Novel Writing Month in November to get me going with the other stuff. There’s no way I would post that stuff on a blog – hello! Copyrights!
3) You started Philanthropy Thursdays over a month ago. How has your doing this and the participation of other bloggers changed or inspired you?
Sometimes I wish every post was dedicated to Philanthropy Thursday. I love how it makes me feel to do something meaningful, and it fills a gap for me left by my not working as a social worker now that I’m a stay-at-home mom. I am both inspired and troubled by the blogger response. People just knock my socks off with the amazing things they do in this world and I love to read about it. On the other hand, I wonder when a post about Playboy gets me nearly 50 comments yet it seems people shy away from commenting on Philanthropy Thursdays. I hope it’s not because they think they HAVE to do something in order to comment. I just want to get the dialogue started about being aware that we can all do small things to change lives.
4) Your posts make me laugh out loud! (are you this funny in person, because I'm dying to have a drink with you!) What is, in your opinion, your funniest post? Also, is there something you've tried to write about humorously, and found you couldn't?
It amazes me that people think I’m funny, because it always seems like when I’m trying to be funny it falls flat, but when I’m venting from a dark place or angry I get a lot of positive feedback. I would love to have a drink with you, too! Although the jury’s out on whether you’d still find me funny. Dorky and wanting to dance to old Duran Duran songs, yes. I guess I have to go back to the Playboy post as one of my favorites. That came from a lot of self-loathing over the drastic changes that occur when allowing four children to eat from your body for nearly a year each. I would love to blog more about some of the husband/wife dynamics in my house but Bob feels like that is crossing a line. So I don't. For now (evil laugh).
5) You've won lots of blog awards. What award do you wish someone would give you for your real life, and what would you say in your acceptance speech?
This is a hard one. I guess I would love for all of my kids to someday win an award and do the “Thanks, mom” bit as they accept the Nobel Peace Prize. Which boils down to the biggest reward for me being the ultimate happiness and success of each of my kids. I’m really praying for no parole hearings in our future. I don’t want to be thanked for early furlough release.
1) You spend a lot of time in your car. What one super feature do you wish it had?
Auto-pilot
I can only imagine how much more multi-tasking I would get done if I could just tell my car (like Kit in NightRider) “Get us to soccer practice” and then I could sit back and get the bills paid, or change the festering diaper, or supervise homework. Or drink heavily.
2) What prompted you to start blogging? Has it been everything you dreamed it would be?
I wanted to flex my writing muscle everyday. I had no idea about the community of blogging, the connections I would make, none of that. I honestly thought I would post chapter vignettes each day as I worked toward finishing a book or project. Now I’m really enjoying the community aspect, and I signed up for National Novel Writing Month in November to get me going with the other stuff. There’s no way I would post that stuff on a blog – hello! Copyrights!
3) You started Philanthropy Thursdays over a month ago. How has your doing this and the participation of other bloggers changed or inspired you?
Sometimes I wish every post was dedicated to Philanthropy Thursday. I love how it makes me feel to do something meaningful, and it fills a gap for me left by my not working as a social worker now that I’m a stay-at-home mom. I am both inspired and troubled by the blogger response. People just knock my socks off with the amazing things they do in this world and I love to read about it. On the other hand, I wonder when a post about Playboy gets me nearly 50 comments yet it seems people shy away from commenting on Philanthropy Thursdays. I hope it’s not because they think they HAVE to do something in order to comment. I just want to get the dialogue started about being aware that we can all do small things to change lives.
4) Your posts make me laugh out loud! (are you this funny in person, because I'm dying to have a drink with you!) What is, in your opinion, your funniest post? Also, is there something you've tried to write about humorously, and found you couldn't?
It amazes me that people think I’m funny, because it always seems like when I’m trying to be funny it falls flat, but when I’m venting from a dark place or angry I get a lot of positive feedback. I would love to have a drink with you, too! Although the jury’s out on whether you’d still find me funny. Dorky and wanting to dance to old Duran Duran songs, yes. I guess I have to go back to the Playboy post as one of my favorites. That came from a lot of self-loathing over the drastic changes that occur when allowing four children to eat from your body for nearly a year each. I would love to blog more about some of the husband/wife dynamics in my house but Bob feels like that is crossing a line. So I don't. For now (evil laugh).
5) You've won lots of blog awards. What award do you wish someone would give you for your real life, and what would you say in your acceptance speech?
This is a hard one. I guess I would love for all of my kids to someday win an award and do the “Thanks, mom” bit as they accept the Nobel Peace Prize. Which boils down to the biggest reward for me being the ultimate happiness and success of each of my kids. I’m really praying for no parole hearings in our future. I don’t want to be thanked for early furlough release.
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